


Powder Keg

by Silbrith



Series: Six-Crossed Knot [11]
Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: In the fall of 1605, a political crisis ensnares two of Jack's closest friends.
Series: Six-Crossed Knot [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052225
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Smoldering Fuse

**Sept-Tours, France. Tuesday, October 8, 1605.**

Philippe winced at the sound of wood smashing against stone. An instant later, Matthew's curse reverberated through the great hall. If Philippe's favorite carved folding chair had been a casualty to his son's wrath, Matthew's curses wouldn't be the only ones filling the air. 

Philippe stood up to put a stop to the sound and fury, but before he could exit the study, the instigator himself stormed in, waving a letter in his hand. "Did you hear about the latest insanity coming from England?"

"There are so many these days, it's hard to keep track," Philippe said calmly. "Which one are you referring to?"

"George Chapman and Ben Jonson were both thrown into prison."

"What were they accused of?" Philippe asked although he could already guess.

Matthew snorted. "Their heinous crime was to have written a play."

"Which play offended the thin-skinned James?"

" _Eastward Ho!_ — a satire of London social customs. Supposedly the king was offended by the Scottish references." Matthew rolled his eyes. "If King Henri took offense over every joke about him, most of France would be behind bars."

"Were the writers injured?" Philippe asked.

"Fortunately not," Matthew said, his anger subsiding. "There was talk of having their noses and ears cut off, but wiser heads prevailed." He sprawled into the chair opposite Philippe's desk and shoved his hands through his hair. " _Dieu_ , I feel helpless. I should be the one going to London. These are my friends. I haven't seen them for fifteen years. They must believe I've abandoned them. Walter's still in prison. Now George is too. Tom Harriot is likely being watched. He never could pretend to be something he wasn't. How long before Hal Percy will be ensnared by some calumny as well?"

"Hal is a member of the Privy Chamber," Philippe pointed out. "He knows how to flatter when necessary. Raleigh should have copied his diplomatic skills. It's unfortunate Raleigh hasn't been released yet, but Robert Cecil was able to ease the restrictions. Raleigh's wife has visiting privileges. The son she bore in February will be a solace to them both."

Matthew shook his head, his voice still rough from only partially suppressed emotion. "I've decided to go to London. Hal and Walter are Knights of Lazarus. It's the least I can do."

"You'd do more harm than good," Philippe countered sternly. "In any case, there's no need for you to take such a reckless course. I've already made plans to leave in a week." Softening his tone a touch, he added, "You must accept reality. Matthew Roydon is a known associate of Raleigh's infamous group of free thinkers. You will be viewed with at least as much suspicion as them. I, on the other hand, am not tainted by prior associations."

When Matthew didn't immediately make a counter-argument, Philippe pursued his advantage. "I've also been able to maintain good relations with Cecil. I'll speak to him about Chapman and Jonson. The king has often remarked how much he enjoys their plays, and both of them are skilled enough actors to convince him of their abject contrition."

Matthew rubbed his forehead. "I may be able to assist from Paris. I have an audience scheduled with King Henri next week. If Tom is unable to work in England, France could provide a welcoming home. I plan to speak with Henri about Kepler's latest theories on planetary motion. Emperor Rudolph, for all his faults, embraces science. He's appointed Kepler imperial mathematician. Tom is an ideal candidate for a similar post in France."

As Matthew began expounding on Kepler's contributions, Philippe let him talk on. He didn't share his son's interest in science but he valued its importance, especially now that he knew hundreds of years from now, Matthew and Diana would be scientists. Someday in the far distant future, Matthew's heart would gladden at the thought that Tom Harriot and Jack had been so close. Philippe idly stroked his chin. He left messages in books for his wife Ysabeau. Perhaps there was something he could do for Matthew . . .

Freyja entered the room. "I assume you're no longer hurling furniture around, Matthew." Philippe's daughter had spent the past month at Sept-Tours. The relaxed lifestyle in Auvergne was likely beginning to bore her.

He grimaced. "Not for the moment."

"Good. I'd like to ride along with you when you return to Paris."

Matthew hesitated. Philippe could read the indecision in his face, and kept quiet, hoping he'd make the right decision on his own. If Philippe gave him a direct order, Matthew could wonder why Philippe was so opposed to him visiting London.

"I'll leave on Friday," Matthew finally conceded with a slight nod in Philippe's direction. Turning back to Freyja, he asked, "Is this sudden desire to return because of a certain actress?"

"You've heard about Bryn?" she said, seemingly untroubled by the question even as she deflecting a direct answer.

Matthew nodded. "And seen her perform. If all her talents are as well developed as her acting skills, you are indeed fortunate."

Philippe hadn't heard that his daughter was seeing someone. Bryn was an unusual name. The only time he'd come across it was when he met Jack's _manjasang_ friend. Freyja's interest in her would be an interesting wrinkle that could perhaps be exploited. Feigning ignorance, he asked, "Who is this actress?"

"She's a member of a commedia dell'arte company," Freyja explained. "For decades she lived in England, passing herself off as a boy so she could perform. Now she alternates living in Paris and Italy. After I check on the renovation progress at my Paris home, I plan to visit her in Venice." She gave Philippe a wicked smile. "Don't worry. I'll keep our scandalous behavior private."

Philippe gave her the strict admonishment she expected, but secretly he was pleased to hear of her travel plans. Once more, he'd be able to make use of her skill in sniffing out rumors and gossip.

He bided his time, waiting till Matthew and Ysabeau were off hunting in the woods near the chateau. He found Freyja in the solar, reading a volume of Greek poetry. Sappho, no doubt. The ancient Greeks had much more enlightened views about love. The present time was a difficult one for his daughter. Perhaps in the distant future, society would be more tolerant. For the moment, Philippe had his hands full trying to establish greater religious tolerance. The sexual battle he'd leave to someone else.

"I saw the glint in your eyes when I mentioned Venice," Freyja said. "I assume you have a task for me."

Philippe took a seat next to her by the fire. "Gerbert has been living in Venice for the past several decades. Your paths may cross. I've heard that during the past several years he's been seen associating with Matthew's son Benjamin. No good can come from this. Gerbert is obsessed with finding the _Book of Life_ and he believes witches are the key to its location. Benjamin has already displayed a most unhealthy fascination for witches."

"You fear the two may form an alliance?"

Philippe nodded. Gerbert d'Aurillac, the head of a clan of _manjasangs_ located primarily in Venice and Auvergne, was a dangerous threat to the security of the de Clermonts. It was ironic for a _manjasang_ of Gerbert's talents, who'd once been elected Pope, that he should be so ruthless. Now that Diana's name had been linked to the _Book of Life_ , Gerbert and Benjamin's interest in witches was fraught with unknown perils for the future.

But how to make them cease their inquiries was a thorny challenge. Benjamin's hatred of the de Clermonts made reasoning with him impossible. Gerbert was cast in the same mold. If they'd become allies, an attempt to kill either one of them could provoke a war between _manjasangs_ such as had not been seen in ages.

But Philippe wasn't without resources, and Gerbert wasn't the only one to employ spies. Freyja had already demonstrated a talent for the skill and it was a good outlet for her intellect. She readily agreed to make discreet inquiries in Venice for Philippe. Freyja already maintained good relations with witches. She was an ideal intermediary.

Did Diana have any knowledge of the _Book of Life_? When Philippe had drunk Jack's blood, the pup's memories of Prague were vague and disjointed. There'd been a book that Matthew stole from Emperor Rudolph. It made quite an impression on Jack since he'd stolen a key that later turned out to be necessary for the theft. Matthew told the boy that he was merely recovering the book. Since Diana was an expert on alchemy, the tome was likely an ancient treatise on the subject.

The last time Philippe saw Jack was in the crypt at Christ Church Greyfriars. Were the murals finished by now? While he was in London, he intended to check in on them—and Jack.

So far, the bloodsickness Jack suffered from was of a different order from the blood rage afflicting Matthew. According to Hubbard, the pup never displayed any inclination toward violence or anger. But Matthew's rage had been slow to develop. Jack's illness could as well.

George Chapman had been Jack's tutor for many years, and the pup considered him as one of his close friends. He'd already sneaked into the Tower of London multiple times, carrying messages and books to Raleigh. Philippe groaned to himself. He was likely doing the same with Chapman, and causing Hubbard immense frustration in the process, showing there was a bright side to every misdeed. But had Chapman's misfortunes awakened a sleeping curse?

A reappraisal was called for.

**Whitehall Palace, London. Monday, November 4, 1605.**

"It's been a week," Jack said and looked at Leonard pleadingly. "Can't we sneak into the prison tonight? We don't have a performance at the Globe today. There will be plenty of time to hunt beforehand." Jack grew elated at the slight softening in Leonard's face. He was bound to agree. Their playing company had finished their cycle of plays with the last one, _Measure for Measure_ , performed yesterday. The next cycle wouldn't start for two months. Leonard enjoyed the thrill of a stealth mission as much as he did.

After the latest close call at the Tower when Jack had snuck in to see Sir Walter, Leonard had insisted on accompanying Jack on all his forays. George was being held in Gatehouse Prison next to Westminster Abbey. The building wasn't quite as secure as the Tower but posed challenges of a different sort because of the number of prisoners.

"Father H cornered me yesterday," Leonard confided. "He demanded to know if you were breaking into Gatehouse. I assured him I hadn't heard of any plans."

Jack broke into a grin. "I'm glad I didn't mention it to you yesterday."

Leonard scowled. "You should have been there for the lecture I got about our last visit to see George. Father H's tongue-lashing is worse than any caning."

"I don't want to get you in trouble. I'll go by myself."

Leonard shook his head adamantly. "Remember our bargain. We go in the two of us, or not at all. Besides, shouldn't you be working on your drawings? Inigo will be here any minute." Leonard nodded pointedly at the stack of paper on the oak table.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You don't fool me for an instant. You're not hanging around to discuss my drawings."

Leonard's smitten smile was ample confirmation as if Jack needed any. The arrival of Inigo Jones at court had been accompanied with all the brilliance of a shooting star. The daemon was several years older than Jack but acted about the same age. He'd been under Father H's protection for years. His father was a clothworker in Smithfield, the district north of Blackfriars.

Despite the favor accorded him by his generous patrons, he didn't put on airs. Lady Lucy Russell and Queen Anne were both enthralled with the stage backdrops and costumes he created for masques. Lady Lucy's husband had provided the financial backing for Inigo to study in Italy. Jack tried not to be envious. Bryn's stories of Florence and Venice had already made him want to travel abroad. The court performances staged by the Medici were supposedly far more elaborate than the ones in England.

As if on cue, Inigo strolled into the room. His doublet and breeches were always more resplendent than anyone else of his status. How Inigo got away with wearing velvets and silks without being a member of the nobility could only be because he'd been granted dispensation, likely by the Queen herself. It was no wonder Leonard was in love with him. With his dark curls and pouty lips, Inigo sent the heart racing of more than one of the ladies-at-court. Luckily for Leonard, he preferred men even if they were _wearhs_.

"Great news!" he declared, bounding forward. "The wedding is on!"

"Not yours, I hope," Leonard said, looking dismayed.

"Of course not, _caro mio_ ," Inigo said, ruffling his hair.

Jack busied himself with his drawings. Fortunately, the antechamber appropriated for Inigo's office provided enough privacy for the two to be able to display their affection openly.

"The marriage is between Robert Devereux and Lady Frances Howard," Inigo explained.

"She's a mere child!" Jack exclaimed.

Inigo shrugged. "She's thirteen. Robert's only a year older, but the king is insistent. He's convinced this will put an end to the constant disputes between the families. The politics don't interest me, but what does is the masque that will be performed to celebrate the occasion. The queen has ordered festivities of unparalleled splendor." He strode over to Jack and draped an arm over his shoulders. "It was a lucky day I discovered you're a painter as well as a musician. I'll be so busy designing costumes and sets, I'll need an extra pair of hands."

"And you'll have mine gladly!" Jack said. The pay was far more than he made as a musician.

"And mine as well for whatever you fancy!" Leonard added with a lecherous grin. He'd turned himself into a skilled foreman thanks to his desire to be close to Inigo. His understanding of set construction made him an indispensable intermediary to the carpenters and provided a ready excuse for his constant presence.

Inigo laughed as he dropped into a chair. "Consider yourselves both hired! Lady Lucy has been regaling the queen with accounts of the Medici performances. Her Highness is determined that this one will surpass any performed in Italy."

Jack caught the scent of the countess in the hallway and quickly smoothed his unruly locks in what would likely be a doomed attempt to make them hang straight.

Leonard jumped up as well. "Lady Lucy's on her way," he whispered to Inigo.

"Thanks!" He quickly puffed out the sleeves of his doublet.

"I thought I'd find you here," Lady Lucy said with a satisfied smile as she entered the room while they doffed their hats and bowed. "I have glorious news!" She proceeded to tell them about the masque. Not wanting to spoil her surprise, they acted as if she was the first to tell them.

"Do you know who will write the script, your ladyship?" Jack asked.

"Her Highness insists on the highest caliber," she said arching her brows while trying to maintain a serious expression. It had the effect of making her seem younger than her age. Lady Lucy was only a couple of years older than Jack, and at the moment she looked like she'd readily sneak into Gatehouse Prison with him just for a lark. She approached them more closely and whispered, "Ben Jonson is to be released from prison at once." She turned to Jack. "Your friend George Chapman will as well. The king, in his infinite wisdom, realizes that they were unjustly accused."

Jack sagged with relief, his grin threatening to split his face.

"I expect all of you to clear your schedules from any other responsibilities," she continued. "The nuptials are to be in January at Hampton Court. I hope to entice Ferrabosco to write the music so that it will be as excellent as the script. And with Inigo in charge of the sets and costumes, I have no doubt they'll be magnificent." Her eyes flitted toward Jack's drawings and she swept over to study them.

"Are these yours, Inigo?" she asked.

With a smile toward Jack, he said, "No, your ladyship. Jack did those. He's been assisting me with set decorations."

"Inigo is fortunate to have you!" she declared. "Make sure that you're properly reimbursed. The queen can afford it. I can see that the next time Inigo goes to Italy, you may need to join him. How is your Italian?"

"Inigo is teaching me," Jack said, "but I'm not very proficient yet."

"Now you have an extra incentive." Lady Lucy then murmured something in Italian. She spoke too quickly for Jack to understand her but it made both Inigo and Leonard chuckle.

"Before I leave, I have two messages to relay," she added. "Leonard, the queen has received Dowland's latest books of ayres and is asking for you." She nodded to his instrument propped in the corner. "I'm glad you brought your lute with you. As for you, Jack, Lady Hannah has the afternoon free and is looking forward to another French lesson." Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

It was completely true that Jack was giving Hannah lessons. Lady Lucy spoke fluent French, Italian, and Spanish and encouraged the other ladies-in-waiting to be equally proficient. Her grace had also intimated that she condoned Jack's relationship with Hannah as long as they didn't cause a scandal. Hannah had been married at a young age to a man forty years her senior. The marriage had been strictly for political gain with her husband keeping a slew of mistresses on the side. Jack was Hannah's only dalliance. He knew it couldn't last, and she likely did as well, but their uncertainty about the future only appeared to intensify their attachment to each other.

When Lady Lucy left, Inigo invited Jack and Leonard out to celebrate Ben and George's release from prison. The upcoming yuletide season promised to be particularly festive.

#

Jack found Hannah in their private refuge, a small dressing room used by playing companies when performances were held in the palace. Currently, no production was scheduled so they had the chamber to themselves.

"I think _baiser_ is my favorite French word," Hannah said, closing the door behind him. She proceeded to prove she knew the meaning in a most satisfactory manner.

When their lips parted, Jack said, "I suppose someday we should expand your vocabulary."

She pushed him onto the settle. "I know exactly in which directions."

He chuckled. "You realize that if Lady Lucy begins conversing with you in French, she'll find your vocabulary quite restricted."

"She'll be much too busy preparing for the masque, _mon amour_! I hope there will be a part for me in it. Inigo's costumes are the most splendid I've ever seen. You're friends with Ben. You'll put in a good word for me?"

"Of course, I will. There are bound to be roles for several beautiful maidens, and Lady Lucy will insist on you being one of them. I still can't believe Ben's ordeal is over."

"It's the talk of court," she confided. "We were all encouraging the queen to intercede on his behalf. I think the king relented just so he wouldn't have to be badgered by the queen. Lord Northumberland was one of many who pleaded for leniency. Supposedly a French count also voiced his support."

"Who was that?" Jack asked, intrigued. Since Lord Northumberland was a member of the Privy Council, Jack had already assumed he was working behind the scenes. Perhaps he'd encouraged the Frenchman.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I heard Lady Lucy talking with the queen about it. Count Philippe de Clermont is at court. They said he spoke eloquently about both Ben and George."

This was the first Jack had heard Philippe was in England. He swallowed down the disappointment that Philippe hadn't contacted him. "Do you know if the count has been here for long?"

"I don't think so. Lady Lucy intimated it was something he discussed during his first audience." She smiled mischievously. "Why? Are you worried I'll practice my French on him?"

"Should I be?" he teased. "I thought all your _baisers_ were for me."

The corners of her mouth drooped forlornly. "I wish they could be."

He draped an arm over her shoulders and squeezed gently. "As do I." They needed to tread carefully for both their sakes. If Father H had his way, Jack wouldn't even be performing at court. Luckily his sire didn't know about his relationship with Hannah, or he'd have his head.

It hurt that Philippe hadn't reached out to him, but it was unrealistic to expect anything else. To a _wearh_ of Philippe's status, Jack was a nobody. For a brief moment in the crypt under the church when Jack showed the count his murals, they'd seemed like a family, but Jack had probably read too much into it.

"Your hands are cold," Hannah said softly. "I wish we could be in a room with a fireplace."

_That won't help._ "Your warmth is all I need," he assured her. Last summer she'd delighted in his coolness, not realizing the cause, but in winter he could provide her with little comfort.

#

Later that day, Jack switched from being a teacher to a student. When he returned to the workroom, Inigo and Leonard gave him an Italian lesson. They continued to converse in Italian as they left the palace. Jack suspected it was partly so Leonard and Inigo could exchange words of affection without fear of being understood by people on the street.

Their destination to celebrate George and Ben's upcoming release was the Dog and Whistle, a tavern near the palace. As they strode along the quay, Inigo told them about his meeting with Ben that afternoon.

"He was informed that he'll be released tomorrow," Inigo said. "He's as excited about the masque as Lady Lucy. We spent hours discussing ideas for the sets."

"I bet he was working on it in prison," Leonard said. "I heard the queen's been keeping him informed of her matchmaking project."

Inigo grinned. "You'd win that bet. It already has a name—the _Masque of Hymen_."

"Can you share any details?" Jack asked eagerly.

"The allegory will revolve around the wedding, with the setting transported to ancient Rome," Inigo framed an imaginary scene in the air. "Opportunities abound for antique splendor. It's not every day that I have the opportunity to recreate the magnificence of Jupiter and Juno! Ben is grumbling at me already to not let my settings overwhelm the script."

"The courtiers will be enthralled," Leonard predicted. "Ben will be able to provide a reason for several couples to parade around and display their finery."

"Lady Lucy chief among them," Inigo agreed. "She's already sent me suggestions for her costume. And don't worry, you two won't be shortchanged either. Ferrabosco has agreed to be the composer. Both of you will have plenty of opportunities to perform."

Leonard nudged Jack. "Particularly you. Ferrabosco loves featuring the viol."

The time to prepare for the masque was short since the nuptials were due to take place in January. The next day, Jack and Leonard would supervise packing Inigo's supplies and equipment for the move. Their work would be done at Hampton Court where the masque would take place. Tom was currently staying at Syon, a short distance away by _wearh_ standards. Jack would be able to visit him frequently. 

"What do we got here—wop traitors?" a surly voice demanded as they walked past a narrow lane.

Six men clustered around Jack and his friends. They reeked of ale and were clearly spoiling for a fight. Jack groaned to himself. God's Bones, it had been folly to speak Italian on the streets. Violence against Catholic sympathizers was growing more and more common.

"Papist recusants, I warrant," said a giant of a man easily weighing twice as much as Jack. They were already reaching for their daggers.

Jack and Leonard exchanged nods. "Inigo, take off and don't look back," Leonard murmured, continuing to speak Italian. At this point, it was better to not be understood. "We'll meet you later at the tavern."

"But you need my help," Inigo protested, apparently forgetting that as a warmblood, he was by far the weakest of the group.

Leonard ignored him as he and Jack sprang on the thugs. Jack paid little heed to Inigo's fleeing footsteps. Tackling the gang without giving away he was a _wearh_ was all that he could handle and then some.

#

The whiff of blood was strong in Hubbard's nostrils when he entered the bell tower of Christ Church Greyfriars. Jack and Leonard's scents came from one of the rooms in the basement. As Hubbard raced down the narrow stone stairs, he saw a light coming from the room that was equipped with a well to an underground spring. Leonard's voice was a low murmur. When Jack groaned, Hubbard increased his speed.

Jack was stretched on the floor, his face ashen, as Leonard washed a wound on his side. There was also blood on Leonard's garments, but Hubbard didn't see any cuts.

"What happened?" Hubbard demanded.

"We were attacked on the street," Jack said, panting as Leonard pressed a cloth on top of the wound. "Anti-papist gang . . . "

Hubbard brushed Leonard aside. "Get clean linens from the cupboard in my bedroom," he ordered. "Cut them into strips. I'll hold the cloth in place."

Although Jack was a _wearh_ , he didn't have as much healing ability as he should. It was an unavoidable consequence of not feeding off warmbloods. "Dagger?" Hubbard asked.

Jack nodded, his eyes closed. He grimaced as Hubbard pressed down hard on the cloth. The wound was deep and Jack was bleeding profusely. At the rate he healed, he'd need days to fully recover.

When Leonard returned, Hubbard directed him to make a pad with one of the cloths. They then tied it in place. When they'd done as much as they could, Leonard retrieved one of Jack's old shirts for the boy to wear. He'd likely bleed for a while.

"You should go check on Inigo," Jack protested, struggling to sit up.

"I will if you lie quietly," Leonard countered, pressing his shoulders back down. "You're far too weak to get up."

"Inigo was there too?" Hubbard asked, appalled. The daemon was a gifted artist but he was a worse fighter than Jack and, God's Truth, Jack was no warrior.

"He was," Leonard acknowledged, "but when we were accosted, we had him take off. He wasn't involved in the brawl."

Now it made sense. Normally Hubbard lectured _wearhs_ to flee if they were ever assaulted on the streets. Flight was preferable to the risk of exposure. But if they fought to keep Inigo out of harm's way, the violence was acceptable.

"There were six of them," Jack mumbled. "We managed to keep them from pursuing Inigo."

Hubbard rested his hand briefly on his forehead. "Then you did well." Turning his head to Leonard, he added, "You go on. I'll take care of Jack."

"He needs blood," Leonard blurted.

"You think I don't know that, pup? He'll have mine." Jack's bloodsickness was such that he could only tolerate blood from _wearhs_ and animals. Hubbard's blood was much more potent than Leonard's and would accelerate the healing process.

Afterward, Hubbard carried Jack upstairs to his room. He then withdrew to change out of his bloodied cassock. Many in his flock were Catholic. Witches and daemons would have a harder time defending themselves. Leonard had provided enough of a description of the gang that Hubbard could pass the word to the other _wearhs_ in his domain. They'd be on the lookout. Three of the men had been killed in the struggle, but there were three others on the loose and their anti-Catholic fervor would be even stronger now.

When he heard the doors to the nave of the church open, Hubbard bolted downstairs. He doubted strongly any gang member would enter Greyfriars. At this hour it was much more likely to be someone in his flock needing assistance.

"Andrew." Philippe's greeting was typically brusque. Hubbard had heard the count was in London. Philippe was wearing travel clothes in somber hues. He was accompanied by his servant Pierre. "I have news for you and Jack."

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! Powder Keg has three chapters which I'll post weekly on Saturday._

_A few notes about this chapter: Lucy Russell and Inigo Jones are historical figures. For an introduction to them, see my blog post "[Backdrop to Powder Keg](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/09/backdrop-to-powder-keg.html)." To the best of my knowledge, Inigo Jones never married, and I took the liberty of portraying him as gay. My Pinterest board has a pin of Lady Lucy wearing a costume designed by Inigo Jones for The Masque of Hymen. _

_Blog:[Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/). See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy._   
_Story Visuals and Music on Pinterest:[Six-Crossed Knot board](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/six-crossed-knot/) on [Silbrith's Stories](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/)_   
_Twitter:[ @silbrith ](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	2. Powder Burns

**Bell Tower, Christ Church Greyfriars. Monday, November 4, 1605.**

The murmur of voices roused Jack from a troubled sleep. He'd dreamt he was being mauled by a wolf. His head felt muzzy. He could still feel the wolf's jaws clamped to his side. Why was he so tired? Mop was lying next to him on the pallet. When the dog pressed against him, a sharp stab made Jack wince, and with that came memories of the attack. Not his finest moment, but they'd managed to keep Inigo out of it.

He lay still and listened to the conversation below. One of the voices was Father H. Who was the other? It wasn't Leonard. Perhaps one of the local daemons had come to see him . . . Jack was on the point of drifting off when he groaned. That was Philippe's cultured baritone. Jack had longed to see the count, but not when he was flat on his back like a weakling.

Their voices were muffled. They were probably in the crypt. Philippe was asking Father H about Tom Harriot's experiments. Father H might not have mentioned the incident. Perhaps Philippe would never need to know.

On that hopeful thought, Jack leaped up. He staggered as the room spun dizzily around him. Mop pressed against his legs as if to support him but Jack was more worried about tripping over him.

A little blood had seeped through the linen pad covering his wound. Jack vaguely recalled feeding off Father H and was grateful for the assist. Any other _wearh_ could have recovered on their own.

Why was it Philippe always saw him at his worst? Although, last time Philippe was the one who'd inflicted the damage. Maybe he'd see this as an improvement.

Jack slipped on a dark doublet to conceal any stains and brushed his hair. Philippe would be able to smell the wound but if Jack made a joke out of it, the count might laugh it off too.

He descended the stone staircase to the crypt, forced to take the steps more slowly than his normal breakneck pace. Bleeding on Philippe was unacceptable.

As Jack approached, he listened to them discussing his murals. Jack had finished them during the year and a half that Philippe had been away. He was the proudest of the one with Mistress Roydon with Goody Alsop and Susanna Norman. Corra was clacking from her perch on top of a cupboard. Mistress Roydon's box of cords was in her lap. The women were laughing and happy. He'd framed that scene with an ornamental border of knots.

Jack opened the door into the crypt and gave a low bow. Instantly he regretted it. He very nearly toppled over as dizziness overwhelmed him.

Philippe was at his side in a flash. He clasped Jack's elbow, making it appear that he was giving him the typical _wearh_ greeting, not that he was preventing him from falling on his face. "We are family," he chided. "There's no need for formality, especially not here."

Mortified by his weakness, Jack stumbled over the greeting he'd prepared.

"Andrew told me of the assault," Philippe said, helping him to a bench. "To be knifed is not a shame. You and Leonard did well to protect your friend."

Pierre produced wine and the finest venison jerky ever served out of a hamper. The four of them sat around the table and Jack's initial discomfort quickly disappeared. He'd selected a spot at the end of the bench where he could lean against the wall if necessary. 

"Why were you speaking Italian?" Philippe asked.

"Leonard and Inigo are teaching me," Jack explained. "We were speaking it in Whitehall and didn't think to switch when we left the palace grounds."

"You learned what could have been a costly lesson," Father H said, eyeing him sternly. "And all out of a frivolous desire to learn Italian. There's absolutely no cause for you to waste time on the endeavor."

"I disagree," Philippe said. "Jack will undoubtedly visit Italy one day to study its art treasures. He shouldn't have to resort to Latin."

"Jack's home is here in London," Father H retorted. "There are many excellent reasons why he shouldn't travel overseas."

Philippe's eyes flashed anger but he didn't argue the point. As far as Jack was concerned, it was moot. He had no patron willing to fund a trip. In any case, he had a much more important matter to discuss and he might not have another chance. "We were going out to celebrate the pardons of George Chapman and Ben Jonson," he told Philippe. "I heard you interceded on their behalf. I'm more than ever indebted to you."

"They never should have been imprisoned in the first place," Philippe said, grunting his disapproval. "I came here to give you the news, but you clearly have other sources. Very few knew of my involvement. How did you learn of it?"

He didn't look angry that Jack had mentioned it. "A lady at court told me," Jack admitted.

"Did she now?" Philippe eyed him appraisingly, making Jack wish he'd spent longer on making himself presentable. "Are you friends with the ladies-in-waiting?"

Father H was shooting dagger eyes at him. Jack knew there was going to be a lecture in his future, but he had to be honest with Philippe. He was the _sieur_ of their family. They owed him complete obedience no matter if Father H did grumble about it. "The King's Men play regularly at court, and I'm sometimes called upon to play music for the ladies-in-waiting. Now that masques are so popular, they often drop into Inigo's studio—that's where I work—to chat about costumes and set designs."

"You appear to be good friends with the designer," Philippe commented. To Jack's immense relief, he didn't demand further details about which woman had told him. Father H knew nothing about Hannah, or so he hoped, and this certainly wasn't the time to find out.

Philippe turned to Father H. "I assume Inigo is a member of your flock?"

"Aye, his mother is a daemon from Italy. I assisted her when she arrived in London and have known Inigo since he was a baby. Recently, Jack and Leonard have been helping him with sets."

Philippe appeared to be quite knowledgeable about Inigo's work. He drew Jack into a discussion of the plans for the upcoming _Masque of Hymen_. Pierre was a discreet presence, replenishing their goblets with wine as needed, making Jack wonder just how many bottles he had in his hamper.

"Inigo said he wants me to paint a backdrop of the sky," Jack said, his enthusiasm mounting as he explained the project. "It will be displayed behind Juno sitting on her throne. That part will most likely be played by the queen. I'm to include shooting stars and comets in the design."

"Like on this ceiling?" Philippe asked as he glanced upward.

Jack nodded and stood up to indicate some of the features. "Tom Harriot helped me with the layout. We used the constellations that were in the sky when Mistress Roydon was in London that spring." He pointed at Draco. "That's the dragon constellation. I like to think it represents Corra."

"In ancient Rome, there were ceiling paintings which depicted the constellations," Philippe said, studying the vault. "But I haven't seen any in many ages. The witches of St. James Garlickhythe are fortunate to have the night sky overhead when they meet here." He nodded to Jack's side. "You should sit down. Your wound is bleeding."

Jack belatedly became aware of the pad's wet stickiness and the lightheadedness accompanying it. When he dropped onto the bench, Pierre retrieved a cloth from the hamper and added it to the padding under his shirt.

"I'd like to meet Harriot sometime," Philippe continued as if nothing was wrong and Jack breathed easier. "Is he in London?"

"Not at the moment," Jack said. "He's living at his house on the Syon estate. I'll see him in the next few days. Tomorrow we're packing up supplies to move to Hampton Court, a short distance away from Syon." He turned to Father H. "The masque is scheduled to be performed on January 5. I'll stay at Hampton Court till then."

"As will Leonard, I imagine." Father H exhaled. "For once, that will be for the best. You're less likely to attract attention in the countryside. By the time you return, the anti-Catholic sentiment may not be as rampant. The gangs will have moved onto something else."

Philippe didn't say anything but he didn't nod agreement. Jack wasn't optimistic either. Catholics along with witches had become scapegoats for any dissatisfaction.

"The masques no doubt contribute to the anti-Catholic fervor," Father H declared. "The people recognize the wasteful extravagance as another indication of papist influence." Jack braced himself for yet another diatribe. "The costumes alone are worth a king's ransom. That money could be far better spent on improving the lives of the people."

"I don't disagree with you," Philippe said mildly. "But do you honestly believe the king would do that? Isn't it more likely that he'd spend the extra funds on useless wars? At least masques don't destroy lives and ravage the countryside."

Father H wasn't about to let Philippe win the argument, but as the two tore into each other's rationale, their animation revealed an obvious delight in sparring with each other. Pierre was sitting opposite Jack and gave him a wink as he stroked Mop. The dog sensed Pierre was a soft touch and had already succeeded in snatching one piece of jerky. After a poor start, the evening was ending on a high note for both of them.

Jack looked forward to introducing Tom to Philippe. Although he'd never mentioned the count to Tom, he probably knew who Philippe was since he was aware of Master Roydon's true identity. For his part, the count appeared to be familiar with Tom's experiments. Jack yearned to ask Philippe who his source was, but Father H had drilled into him that asking questions of _wearhs_ was not done. Figures. First he couldn't ask questions about the Roydons. Now Philippe was added to the list. Some things never change.

**Whitehall Palace. Tuesday, November 5, 1605.**

" _Imbéciles_!" Not satisfied, Philippe let out a torrent of curses in Greek and Latin.

Currently, Pierre was the only other person in the small waiting room allocated for ambassadors at Whitehall. His faithful servant was used to his roars by now. Philippe had to vent his outrage to someone, but he wished Ysabeau were with him. She would have used wit and mockery to dampen his anger. Pierre's silent presence didn't provide much solace.

For over a year, Philippe had been patiently working behind the scenes to encourage greater religious tolerance in England. A ceasefire with Spain had been achieved. Philippe had been able to demonstrate that King Henri's popularity in France was in part due to the relaxation of religious hostilities. Granted, the English Parliament had introduced a bill to outlaw all Catholics, but it hadn't yet taken effect, and Philippe believed there was a good chance it never would. He was convinced that the anti-papist fervor would decline as James felt more secure on the throne.

But just as Philippe was prepared to embark on the even more delicate negotiations to reduce James's fear of witchcraft, his plans went up in flames.

Last night a group of Catholic rebels had tried to blow up the House of Lords. Philippe slammed his fist into the wall, causing Pierre to jump.

"Should I prepare your belongings for our departure?" Pierre asked.

"Not yet. I'm not a target." The two most powerful men in England next to the king—Robert Cecil and Henry Howard—were both well aware of Philippe's efforts to assist the king. The danger lay elsewhere.

Philippe approached Pierre and spoke in a whisper pitched for only his ears to hear. "One of the plotters is Lord Northumberland's cousin Thomas Percy. There are search warrants out for his arrest. Hal is under house arrest as well, although I'm convinced he wasn't a member of the conspiracy. Cecil shares my belief. _Dieu_ , the Privy Council was aware of the plot in advance. Why didn't Hal do more to protect himself? For now, my place is here. I'll do what I can to mitigate the damage."

Cecil was on Hal's side. Howard's views about Hal were an unknown but he'd been harsh in his persecution of Raleigh.

"Is Lord Northumberland currently at Syon?"

Philippe nodded absently then let out a groan as realization sank in. Yesterday, Jack mentioned he was going to see Harriot at Syon. He'd already faced one run-in with an anti-papist gang. Once the local populace heard about the plot, anyone marked with the faintest hint of suspicion would be easy prey. The religious riots in France were a fresh memory of the horrors which could be inflicted. Elements within Parliament would likely stoke the outrage.

"I'm due to meet with Cecil," Philippe, making an abrupt decision. "You'll need to go to Jack. He mentioned he and Leonard would spend the day in Inigo's workroom, preparing to move to Hampton Court."

"What should I tell them, _sieur_?"

"Inform them of the plot. Tell Jack I'll meet with him and Harriot at a later date. Under no circumstances, should he delay his departure for Hampton Court, but he must avoid Lord Northumberland. Jack will also need to warn Harriot of the danger." In the past, the daemon's been accused of being an atheist and alchemist. He could now easily become a casualty. "Hubbard must be notified as well. He should alert his following to lay low."

Philippe fished in the pouch attached to his belt for one of his personal coins. The silver coins were stamped with two de Clermont symbols—the cross and the crescent. "Give this to Jack. Explain its significance. It's time he learned."

#

Jack fingered the ancient coin. It was paper-thin. Had it been made during the days of ancient Rome? He'd never seen anything like it.

"You understand?" Pierre asked. "When Comte Philippe sends you a letter with the coin embedded in the seal, you must return it personally. In this case, I will serve as your messenger. Handing it back to me indicates that you will carry out his wishes."

Leonard shot Jack an anxious glance. He realized how torn Jack was. Would witches be blamed for the plot? Shouldn't he stay to help protect them? But then who would warn Tom?

When Pierre arrived, he and Leonard were working alone in Inigo's workshop. Inigo had left earlier to confer with Ben on the new masque.

"I'll go inform Father H," Leonard offered. "The only supplies left to pack are the paints."

"Mop better remain in London," Jack said, his head spinning on how best to proceed. "Father H welcomes his company, and I can't have him with me at Hampton Court . . ." Why was he focusing on his dog? Lord Northumberland was under house arrest. Tom could be under suspicion as well. What good would a warning do? If Tom attempted to flee, it would be interpreted as a sign of guilt and he'd be hunted down.

"Jack, you must leave for Hampton Court this afternoon," Pierre repeated, slowing his words as if to drill them into Jack's head. "Do not attempt to visit Lord Northumberland. Comte Philippe is working on his behalf. You must have faith that he will make others see reason. Do I have your word?"

"Of course," Jack said without thinking. Pierre's news of the plot came as a complete shock. Jack had assumed the king was popular. Now what? Absently he returned the coin to Pierre.

The townspeople tended to blame any problem on papists and witches whom they lumped together as Satanists. Jack had never been particularly religious. Father H mouthed compliance with the Church of England but was a Catholic at heart. 

The door opened and Lady Hannah poked her head in. She blushed when she spotted Pierre. "I didn't realize you had company. I'll come back later." She clutched a rolled-up sheet of paper. "I have a list of costume suggestions from Lady Russell."

By the gentle smile Pierre gave her, he surely suspected Hannah had fabricated the excuse for her arrival on the spur of the moment. Jack had already seen her once today. Pierre would be able to smell her rose and lavender scent on him.

Pierre doffed his cap and bowed. "There's no need for your ladyship to leave. My business is done." He secured the coin in his pouch and departed.

"I should go too," Leonard said and turned to Jack. "The carts will arrive in two hours. I hope to be back by then. If not, go on without me and I'll catch up."

"Did you hear about the plot?" Lady Hannah whispered as soon as Leonard left.

"Aye, we just learned of it." He guided her to a corner of the room away from the window where no one would be able to see them. "Do you think the queen will change her schedule?"

"No, if anything we'll leave even earlier." She drew his head down. "You'll be careful, _mon coeur_?"

He kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips. "I will. You too."

"You don't have any Catholics in your family?"

He shook his head, "This is one time when not having any relatives is a blessing. Do you have any concerns?"

"No. Lord Ashley for all his faults is a staunch adherent to the Church of England."

#

Hannah arrived at Hampton Court a few days after Jack. Leonard arrived safely as well. Thanks to Philippe's warning, Father H was able to alert his flock to the heightened level of danger. Leonard had also gotten word to Jeffrey and Annick Norman in Norwich who now had a baby son to protect.

Hysteria spread throughout the realm as details of the plot emerged. Rumormongers accused witches and worshippers of the Devil of having instigated the crisis. The witches of the St. James Garlickhythe gathering restricted their activities, only helping the townspeople they knew and trusted.

By the time Jack was able to go to Syon, Tom was better informed than he was. A cousin of Lord Northumberland, Thomas Percy, was reported to be one of the main conspirators. His lordship had maintained close relations with his cousin, even employed Percy to act as an intermediary between himself and the king when James was living in Scotland. Most damaging of all to Lord Northumberland was that his cousin had visited Syon on the day before the attempted assassination. Percy was killed while attempting to escape. Perhaps that was for the best as under torture he might have confessed to Lord Northumberland's involvement.

His lordship had assured Tom that he knew nothing about the plot and that only routine matters had been discussed. Jack knew Lord Northumberland wasn't a Catholic but did he have sympathies with the plotters? His enemies could easily cast aspersions.

Tom urged Jack to stay at Hampton Court and not attempt to visit him. He was convinced that at some point he'd also be arrested, although, by God's Grace, he'd done nothing wrong. Jack compromised by visiting him only on Sundays. On the first day they were together, Tom made contingency plans. No matter what happened, Jack was to focus on keeping Tom's papers and experiments safe. Jack didn't argue but there was no way he'd let Tom languish in prison. He'd already begun scheming on how to break him out. Perhaps he could convince Philippe to give him safe passage to France.

#

"A letter for you, Your Grace." With a low bow, Cecil's assistant left Philippe's ad hoc office in the ambassadors' quarters.

Philippe inspected the seal, verifying that it was genuine and unbroken, before opening the missive. Cecil was his primary communication pathway to the king. Several members of Parliament had been vocal in wanting Hal Percy thrown into prison even though there was no evidence of his involvement. Cecil and other members of the Privy Council had been more moderate but the situation could change in the blink of any eye.

The message in the letter was cloaked in diplomatic double-speak, but the inference was clear. Harriot's days of freedom were numbered.

Philippe absently stroked his beard. Would this be the opening salvo that would take down Northumberland as well?

How much time was Jack spending at Syon? Would he be able to control himself if his benefactors were arrested? Philippe thought about how Matthew would handle a similar situation and gave an impatient snort. Pierre, who was sitting at a side table classifying the bulletins from France, looked up but knew not to disturb his musings.

Matthew's rage would likely explode if he heard that yet another Knight of Lazarus was in the Tower. He was already a seething volcano that fellow knight Raleigh was now in his second year of confinement. The visitations Philippe had been able to negotiate between Raleigh and his wife were an unsatisfactory solution. 

Jack had not displayed any of the anger normally associated with blood rage. His was a different type of bloodsickness, but it could be just as devastating to his friends. The symptoms proved he was a creature. If his illness was witnessed, Harriot and Northumberland would no doubt be convicted of associating with Satan.

Philippe stood up abruptly. On a Sunday, there was nothing productive he could do at Whitehall. Hubbard mentioned that Jack spent his Sundays at Syon with Tom. It was time for a visit. Besides, a trip to the countryside would give him a chance to hunt away from the poisonous atmosphere of London. With luck, he'd be able to convince Tom to journey to another of Northumberland's estates where he'd be at less risk.

"Lock away the correspondence," he ordered Pierre. "We'll leave for Syon within the hour." Already he felt a lift in his spirits.

A small smile crossed Pierre's face as he complied with the instructions.

Philippe chuckled. "You're happy to escape London too."

"I am, _sieur_ , but that's not why I smiled. I haven't seen that look on your face in ages. You're enjoying having an infant to watch over."

* * *

_Notes: The type of knot border Jack used in his murals was similar to that in a manuscript from the 16th century by Joris Hoefnagel and Georg Bocskay.[The manuscript is currently owned by the J. Paul Getty Museum.](http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/2407/joris-hoefnagel-and-georg-bocskay-butterfly-marine-mollusk-and-pear-flemish-and-hungarian-1561-1562-illumination-added-1591-1596/) There's a pin of it on the Six-Crossed Knot board of my Pinterest site. Knots have a special significance for Jack because they remind him of Diana's knots. In Chapter 3, the fallout from the Gunpowder Plot strikes close to home. Will Philippe be able to mitigate the damage?_

_Blog:[Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/)._  
_Pinterest:[Six-Crossed Knot board](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/six-crossed-knot/) on [Silbrith's Stories](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/)_  
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	3. Under the Lens

**Syon. Sunday, November 17, 1605.**

At the sound of pounding hoofbeats on the road, Philippe reined his horse to a halt. They were on the outskirts of the Syon estate. Quickly signaling Pierre to follow, Philippe guided his horse to the woods bordering the road. He could distinguish the rumble of a heavy cart. At least four riders accompanied it.

In reality, there was no need for concealment. Philippe was clad in simple garments giving no indication of his status. It would be impossible for anyone to know where they were heading since Tom's house was one of several retainer properties on the estate. But Philippe had no desire for a confrontation of any kind in the present climate.

As the horsemen drew close, Philippe noted his caution was justified. They were royal guards, wearing steel helmets and breastplates. In the cart sat a man in civilian clothes. His hands had been shackled together. Philippe had seen Jack's drawings of the prisoner. It was Thomas Harriot.

He was too late. 

Was Jack still at the house? It was mid-afternoon. Perhaps he'd already headed back to Hampton Court. As soon as the convoy passed, Philippe returned to the road and urged his horse into a gallop.

Harriot's simple red brick home appeared unoccupied, but the door was unlocked and Jack's scent—a blend of rosemary, fig, and Lobero—was strong. Not bothering to knock, Philippe strode inside to find Jack standing rooted to the center of the small hall.

"They arrested Tom," he blurted, his eyes enormous, but they hadn't turned inky black, a sign of blood rage. Philippe breathed easier.

"We saw his convoy on the road," Philippe said, extending his arm, bent at the elbow, while gripping Jack's elbow. 

Jack wasn't too dazed to respond with the proper greeting at first. His hand shook when he finally clasped Philippe's arm.

"What are the charges?" Philippe asked.

"When I heard them coming, Tom insisted I hide in a cupboard," Jack whispered, not answering him. "He suspected he'd be arrested. I'm supposed to safeguard his papers, but the guards collected most of them. They didn't take the books but they may come back for them."

"Did they explain the charge?" Philippe repeated patiently.

He gave a jerky nod. "He was accused of casting a horoscope of the king. They believe he was using magic in an attempt to influence the king's future."

The knot eased in Philippe's chest as he let out a rough bark of a laugh. "Is that all?"

Jack's stared at him in bewilderment. "Isn't that enough? He's accused of being a sorcerer!"

"But not of being involved in the conspiracy. This charge will be much easier to refute."

Jack shook his head. "This is just the first step. Once they have him imprisoned, they'll torture him. They'll force him to say whatever they want." His voice grew rougher as he spoke, the register in his voice dropping several tones.

Pierre stepped up, exchanging a quick look with Philippe. The warning signs were on full display. Jack was on the verge of giving in to the sickness within him. Philippe wasn't ready to call it blood rage since it had few similarities with Matthew's illness. Ysabeau's son lashed out in anger when he lost control. With Jack, he became paralyzed with shock. For both men, though, the danger to themselves was equal.

Philippe gripped Jack's shoulder, hoping to anchor him. "Calm down! Do you realize what's happening to you?"

Jack gazed blankly at him. Although the color of his eyes had darkened, there was still white showing. He hadn't succumbed fully.

Philippe shook him roughly. "Jack, answer me!"

He swallowed and began inhaling lungfuls of air as if he'd just run a marathon. "I'm okay now." Despite his words, he sagged in Philippe's grasp, his legs wobbling like a newborn colt's.

Philippe shoved him onto an oak bench. "Do you have any blood in the house?"

"There's a tankard in my room. I reserved it from last night's hunt." Jack rested his forehead on his hands.

"I'll get it, _sieur_ ," Pierre offered.

Jack looked up. "It's the one with the lid." Pierre wouldn't need directions to the room since he'd be able to tell by the smell. "I'm sorry," Jack added in a broken voice.

"You should be." Philippe wasn't in the mood to mince words. "What if the guards had seen you like this? You would have been exposed as a _wearh_ and killed on the spot. Tom probably would have been as well." His goal was to paint as black a picture as possible. Jack needed to understand the mortal peril he was in when he was in the grips of bloodsickness.

And judging by Jack's anguished face, the message had gotten through. But now what? Pack him off to the bell tower and order Hubbard to keep him confined?

Philippe wished he had a better handle on what was the right course of action. He'd tried to fight the blood rage within Matthew by ordering him to be a warrior. In hindsight, that could have been the incorrect approach. Combat only appeared to strengthen his fury.

In Matthew's case, drinking blood helped quench the flames of uncontrolled emotions. Blood could also possibly ease Jack's torment as long as it wasn't human blood. Philippe remembered all too well the prophecy of Jack's friend Annick, a Breton witch. She'd warned that if Jack drank from humans, he'd sink into blood rage.

After a few sips, Jack appeared to be marginally calmer.

"I ask again," Philippe said. "Could you sense that you were losing control?" Pierre had taken a seat next to Jack. Philippe knew his intentions. Pierre was offering a reassuring presence for Jack but primarily he desired to protect Philippe. It was unnecessary. A weak pup like Jack was no threat.

Jack nodded slowly. "I hear a loud thrumming in my ears. My vision begins to blur. Had I gone completely under?"

"No, you were able to stave it off. Your ability to recognize the warning signs indicates you can master the sickness. For your sake as well as those you care about, it's vital you do so."

Although Jack said he understood, Philippe suspected he had little regard for his own peril.

"Torture is no longer a standard means of interrogation in England," Philippe continued. "Why do you think Tom would be subjected to it?"

"The king and the Privy Council can still sanction its use," he said bleakly. "Attempted assassination certainly qualifies as sufficient reason. The rack was used on Guy Fawkes."

"How do you know about that?" Philippe had already heard about it from Cecil but he was shocked that Jack knew what had been done and even more so that he was privy to Guy Fawkes's name. The suspect was using the alias of John Johnson, and none of the names of the accused had been released to the public.

"I heard about it at Hampton Court," Jack said, taking another sip. His eyes and voice were back to normal, but he looked exhausted. In his present vulnerable state, Philippe would be able to easily extract whatever information he wanted.

Philippe could smell a subtle fragrance of rose and lavender on Jack. Pierre mentioned a lady-in-waiting who appeared to be friends with the pup. Was she his source?

"What is her name?" Philippe asked. Jack had so far displayed an open trust in him which was almost unheard of among _manjasangs_. Would he continue to do so as he pried into Jack's secrets?

"Lady Hannah Ashley," he disclosed readily enough. "She'd heard it from Lady Lucy."

Normally, liaisons between _manjasangs_ and warmbloods were forbidden, but in this case, the potential benefits outweighed the danger. Jack was in an ideal position to be Philippe's eyes and ears at court. Lady Lucy Russell was the queen's most trusted confidante. Last year after a masque performance, Philippe had chatted with her at length. Jack's name had come up in passing. She'd praised his musicianship and mentioned how popular he was with the ladies at court. The pup's ability to draw their portraits and play music for them, along with his diffident manner, made him a welcome visitor. Bedchamber gossip was a source for confidences that Philippe and his agents wouldn't otherwise have access to.

"Tom's situation is completely different from that of Guy Fawkes," Philippe assured him. "Parliament and the king are not involved in the case. I'd ridden here to warn Tom. His accuser is one of the judges in the Star Chamber, a man obsessed with the occult. I'm sure the charges will be dismissed, but you must be patient. It will take time."

"But I can't just sit on my hands," he protested.

"I'm not asking you to. You're needed at Hampton Court." When Jack started to object, Philippe stilled him with a flick of his hand. "Not just to assist Inigo Jones, but also to gather information. You should continue your liaison with Lady Hannah."

At that Jack's eyes widened. No doubt Hubbard had warned him of the fire and brimstones which would surely rain down upon him for consorting with a warmblood, but Philippe had never been one to ignore an opening.

"Tom isn't in as much danger as Lord Northumberland," Philippe continued. "I'll do what I can for both men, but any ammunition you can supply could help their cause considerably." Based on Jack's nod, Philippe knew he didn't need to spell out what he was looking for. Everyone had vulnerabilities. What were the weaknesses of the men of the Privy Chamber? Jack might be able to discover one.

"But I need to protect Tom's books and equipment," Jack said, glancing around the room worriedly. "The soldiers could return, damage his experiments, set fire to his notes—"

"I'll arrange with Andrew for the house to be guarded," Philippe said, cutting in before Jack panicked once more. "Pierre will stay here for the time being."

"If I find out anything, how do I send word?" Jack asked.

"Andrew's agents should arrive by early tomorrow morning. Once they're in place protecting the house, Pierre will join you at Hampton Court. He's a skilled carpenter. Surely Inigo will welcome his assistance. If you hear anything, tell Pierre. He'll contact me."

Philippe was glad Jack didn't raise any objections to Pierre's presence. It was vital to know if Jack would be able to control his bloodsickness. Pierre would also be able to tell Leonard about the incident and what to watch out for. Any relapse would necessitate Jack's removal from court.

#

For the next several weeks, Jack felt himself trapped between two worlds.

His life at Hampton Court proceeded as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Inigo's workshop was in a constant state of semi-orderly chaos with Inigo designing backdrops and Jack executing his visions as soon as the carpentry work was done. Seamstresses clustered in small groups, sewing costumes. Inigo had designed an arch to be used to frame the performance. Some of the backdrops were placed on wheels so they could be rolled out of sight when not needed.

Philippe had sent Jack a couple of letters, assuring him that Tom was not suffering. He was being held in Gatehouse prison, in the same cell George Chapman had been in. Jack had visited George there. He knew the conditions were tolerable. Tom had been provided paper and ink so he could continue to work on his equations. Somehow Philippe had managed for Tom to be able to write to Jack. Tom quipped the isolation was a welcome stimulus to his work. His personal assurance that he was fine was not as good as Jack being able to judge for himself, but it would have to suffice.

Jack's own mission took on heightened importance when Lord Northumberland was arrested ten days after Tom. His lordship was imprisoned in the Tower, close to where Sir Walter was being held. If Pierre and Leonard hadn't been there, Jack didn't know how he would have been able to restrain himself from going to London. As it was, they kept him under close supervision, serving as a constant reminder that he couldn't let his guard down.

Of the men who used to gather at the Hart and Crown with the Roydons, all were either in prison or had just been released. Christopher Marlowe was the lone exception, and that was only because he'd been killed within a year of the Roydons' departure. What was wrong with England that so many brilliant minds were wasting away in prison cells?

It was no wonder that Leonard and Inigo were making plans to go to Italy for an extended stay. Bryn had been in contact. She was in Venice and said she'd be able to secure an audition for Leonard with one of the commedia dell'arte troupes. Inigo wanted to study set design and architecture. They urged Jack to go with them, but Jack hadn't decided. It was different for Leonard. He'd drifted from one English playing company to another for close to fifteen years. Some were already joking about how he managed to stay looking so young. It was time to assume a new identity.

Jack still had several years before he'd need to shed his identity. And now, with Tom and Lord Northumberland imprisoned, it was unthinkable. Then there was Hannah. They were closer than ever. Lady Lucy sometimes allowed them the use of her bedchamber. The pretense of consults on costume design gave them still more opportunities.

"Soon I'll need to leave for Derby," Hannah said one evening as she intertwined her legs with his in Lady Lucy's bed. "My husband requires my presence for the Feast of Stephen's."

"Will you spend the entire twelve days of Christmas there?" Jack asked, dismayed at the news. He knew he shouldn't be. Her husband would naturally want to show her off during the holidays before he returned to his mistresses.

"Probably," she said, frowning. "I wish I could be here instead."

The king and queen would spend the Yule season at Hampton Court this year. Jack and his fellow players would be in high demand for providing plays and music throughout the period. "But you'll be back for the masque, right?" he asked.

She rested her head against his bare chest. "I wouldn't miss it."

The masque was scheduled for January 5. It was one of the reasons the court would spend Christmas here. Inigo and Leonard would leave shortly afterward.

She turned her head to look up at him. "Do you have any word about Master Harriot?"

"Not for a week," Jack admitted.

She gently stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry. I know how much he means to you. It seems so unfair. My parents are still Catholic, even though they attend Protestant services. Many of the highest officials secretly adhere to the old ways. I overheard Lady Lucy mention the Earl of Northampton practices in secret."

"Is she sure about that?" Henry Howard was one of the most powerful men at court. He served on the Privy Council and had been instrumental in the conviction of Sir Walter. He was no friend of Lord Northumberland and would likely work for his conviction as well.

Hannah nodded. "Lucy's a close friend of the Earl's sister-in-law." She sighed. "If you have enough influence, you can get away with anything."

#

Philippe strode over to the window overlooking a courtyard at Whitehall. Soon he would leave England. Pierre had already sent one trunk ahead. The rest they could easily transport in saddlebags.

His gamble had paid off. The information Jack had supplied about Howard being a Catholic had given Philippe sufficient leverage to grease the wheels of the Privy Council. Harriot had been released a week ago. Philippe felt justifiably proud of his assistance. His reference to King Henri's interest in Harriot as a royal mathematician, fictitious though it was, had prompted the English king to take a fresh look at Harriot. He'd already heard of Emperor Rudolph's patronage of Kepler. Perhaps eventually James would do something similar.

Although Hal Percy was still in the Tower, Philippe believed there was a good chance for eventual leniency. Howard had softened his stance. Once tempers cooled, Hal might be pardoned as well.

Philippe turned to Pierre. "It's a fine day. On a Sunday, there will be no business to attend to. Tomorrow we can finish our departure preparations. "

Pierre gave a half-smile, alerting Philippe that he didn't need to tell him they were riding to Syon. Over the centuries Pierre had developed a finely honed sense of knowing what Philippe wanted, sometimes even before he did. This was likely the last opportunity Philippe would have to see Jack for quite a while. He'd done all he could in England until the political situation grew more stable. Jack was favorably placed at court to continue providing information if anything useful surfaced. Meanwhile, Andrew would undoubtedly be overjoyed to see Philippe leave.

At one time, Philippe had considered telling Andrew about Benjamin and Gerbert's interest in witches, but Benjamin was a difficult subject. Andrew already despised his maker. He didn't need any additional warning. As for Gerbert, to Philippe's knowledge he'd never traveled to England. If he did, he'd be subjected to Hubbard's demand to sample his blood just as the priest required from any other newly arrived _manjasang_. Philippe chuckled to himself. In a way, he wished Gerbert would be that foolhardy. It would teach him a lesson.

#

Upon Tom's release from prison, Jack borrowed a cart and used it to convey him and his books to the Syon estate. With Lord Northumberland still in prison, their Christmas would be subdued. Resources were tight. Tom didn't expect to receive any funding from his lordship, and Jack's earnings as a musician and painter barely provided for the essentials, but they'd manage.

Tom was content as long as he had enough money for paper. He was eager to resume his optics experiments. After the masque performance, Jack would have a couple of weeks off before the playing company's winter performances in London. He hoped to secure painting commissions to help tide them over till Inigo had another job for him.

Once more, Jack was spending his Sundays with Tom at Syon. He hadn't seen Philippe since the day Tom was arrested, so it came as a shock when the count and Pierre showed up on their doorstep on a Sunday afternoon a week after Tom returned home.

Tom gave a low bow. "Your Grace, I'm honored."

"I return to France in two days," Philippe said. "I wanted to speak with you before my departure." Philippe was wearing muted clothing rather than his courtier attire, but even so, Jack regretted the shabbiness of his own garments. He hung Philippe's cape carefully on a hook. Their larder had very few supplies. Nothing worthy of serving Philippe.

"Jack told me of the assistance you provided on my behalf," Tom said. "I'm greatly indebted to you."

"I'd hoped to persuade the king to name you Royal Mathematician," Philippe said. "By rights, you should be. Matthew has spoken highly of your ability."

Pierre murmured in an aside to Jack. "I brought wine and supplies for a repast. Help me set the table while they talk."

Pierre had wine, ham, and cheese in a hamper. It was a feast compared to their normal fare. While Philippe eased Tom into a discussion of his experiments, Jack got out the dishes.

An even greater shock was yet to come. Philippe offered to sponsor Tom's work with lenses. Tom was continuing to work on lenses for eyeglasses and for observing faraway objects. He now would have the resources to pay for a lens grinder. Philippe supplied him with a pouch of coins that would be sufficient for at least a year.

Tom's excitement couldn't be contained. When he headed to his study to bring out samples of his latest research, Jack tried to express adequately his appreciation for Philippe's patronage.

"I don't expect to return to England anytime soon," Philippe told him. "But Pierre and Françoise will drop in periodically." He reached into his pocket. "I want you to have this." He handed him a silver medallion on a chain.

Jack studied the engraved image on the disk of a man rising from a coffin. "Is this Saint Lazarus?"

"It is. This was Matthew's. He has another one to wear." Philippe wrapped Jack's fingers around the medallion. "It will be many hundreds of years before there is any possibility of you being reunited. Until then, wear this in memory of him."

Jack stared with awe at it. This had belonged to Master Roydon, and Philippe was giving it to him. "I don't know what to say." He stopped, the lump in his throat preventing any additional words from coming out.

"Your face has already conveyed your thanks. May this serve to anchor you during the difficult times ahead."

Jack slipped the chain around his neck. The medallion felt warm against his skin. Philippe believed a reunion could happen. This would help keep that hope alive.

* * *

_Notes: The story ends with Jack and Tom in relatively comfortable positions. Masques continue to be popular for the next several years. Inigo is believed to have visited Italy in 1606, and I like to think Leonard was with him. Raleigh would continue to be imprisoned until 1616. The Earl of Northumberland's fate was harsher. His freedom would only come after sixteen years in confinement._

_I hope you enjoyed the story! I'll be back with the next installment in January when the year is 1621 and Jack becomes enmeshed in a dangerous liaison._

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